


Strip

by TheDreamSmith28



Series: Spn Kink Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, F/M, Humour, Smut, Strippers, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 09:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17680493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreamSmith28/pseuds/TheDreamSmith28
Summary: A succubus is killing off clients at a high-end strip club. Dean comes up with an unusual cover story to get them inside.





	Strip

**Author's Note:**

> Free space

**Free Space**

Rhea idly tapped her foot against the back of the front bench of the Impala in time to the music blaring from the stereo. Sam was dozing in the front seat, lulled into unconsciousness by the scorching Kanas sun - if his snores were anything to go by.

Dean was in a rare, happy mood; humming along to the music and drumming his hands on the wheel.

As lovely as the vintage Chevvy looked, it had to have the shittiest air conditioning that she had ever seen – though Dean would give her hell if she dared bring it up. Tipping her head back, Rhea resigned herself to a slow, sweaty death.

She was just considering poking Sam awake for some kind of entertainment when she felt the car slow down, Dean slapping the back of his brother’s head as they parked up outside a surprisingly classy-looking building.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Rhea sat up with a yawn, eyeing the gleaming windows and tidy flower planters beneath them. ‘Thought this place was supposed to be a strip joint?’

‘You clearly haven’t been to the right kind of strip clubs.’ Dean twisted in his seat to grin at her, the sunlight illuminating the flecks of hazel in his eyes.

Rolling her eyes, she sat forward, resting her chin on the back of the front bench.

Classy or not, this club had had four of its clientele turn up dead just hours after leaving the place and after some research, it hadn’t been difficult to work out that a succubus was masquerading as one of the dancers.

‘Well how are we gonna do this then? We can’t just walk in and start chanting Latin at the strippers.’

‘FBI?’ Sam flicked through a sheaf of fake IDs.

‘I’m not wearin’ a monkey suit in this weather.’ Dean flicked his hand at the sign taped to the inside of the club’s central window. ‘Besides, I have a better idea.’

Sam and Rhea squinted against the light in an attempt to make out the words.

‘Not a fucking chance.’

 

                                                                            ****

 

As it turned out, there _had_ been a chance, and Rhea tried to wipe the scowl from her features as she pushed through the club’s heavy double doors with the Winchesters in tow. Once her eyes had adjusted to the change in ambience, she cast her gaze around the spacious interior, taking in the bar along one wall and the stage and runway dominating the central space. Private booths along the wall adjacent to the bar, a door that must lead backstage in the far corner.

They were greeted by a slight man in his early forties, wearing a suit that probably cost more than she could get from hustling poker in a whole month. A diamond stud glimmered in his right ear as he rose from one of the plush velvet chairs facing the stage. Behind him, a mountain of a man eyed the three of them stonily.

‘Hi.’ Pasting on what she hoped was a friendly smile, Rhea stopped short of who she presumed was the owner of the establishment. ‘I’ve come to audition for the job opening. My friends here are looking to start as bouncers.’

The man’s eyes flicked to the brothers behind her before sweeping over her in a manner that seemed more like professional appraisal than a lecherous once-over.

‘Wonderful.’ His smile reached his eyes - so blue they almost glowed. ‘I’m Liam Hanover, the proprietor of the Blue Iris. Why don’t you speak to our DJ? He can get your song choice set up and then once you’ve performed, I can give you a tour. Mark will interview the boys while I’m showing you around.’

Fantastic. She’d at least counted on Sam and Dean being otherwise occupied while she had to do this. So instead of shooting the elder Winchester in the kneecaps like she was desperate to, Rhea grinned winningly back at Liam.

‘Sounds good.’

                                                                                       *****

 

The opening chords to the Def Leppard song she’d chosen blared from the club’s hidden sound system as she stepped onto the runway. She hadn’t been particularly creative with her music choice; ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ was a pretty stereotypical stripper song, but at least it had an easy beat to follow.

Liam had lent her a pair of stilettos to dance in, she just prayed she wouldn’t break her ankle in them. It had been _years_ since she’d danced, and even then it had been ballet, not pole dancing 101.

Sam and Dean were sat with Liam and the huge bouncer at the front of the stage, drinks in hand.

_Bastards._

But even as she cursed them, she couldn’t stop the heat from pooling in her core as the elder Winchester’s gaze bored into her. The room seemed too warm and suddenly taking her clothes off didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

With a slow breath, Rhea gripped the pole and began to dance, letting the music and Dean’s almost-burning attention lead her through the steps. She dropped and lifted with the beat, letting each roll of her hips become a seduction, each arch of her back an invitation.

Even if she didn’t have a hope in hell with Dean, she may as well pretend while she could.

Her tank top already on the stage behind her, she made a show of peeling off her denim shorts to reveal the lacy blank panties that matched her bra. There was no way that she was taking off more than that – this whole thing was bad enough – so she tried to make up for it with her moves.

As she parted her lips and rose from a particularly flexible move that had the insides of her thighs stinging, Rhea let herself fix her gaze on Dean. It wasn’t hard to tell what was going though his brain, but how many other women had he thought about like this?

It was all or nothing. That’s what she told herself at least; she didn’t want to end up as just another notch on his bedpost. But what were the chances that the infamous womanizer, Dean _fucking_ Winchester, would want her for more than a night? He’d had plenty of opportunities to make a move in the two years that they’d been hunting together. Enough nights of just the two of them playing poker and drinking the Men of Letters’ expensive liquor together.

She sank to her knees as the final chords faded out, arching her back so that the ends of her hair pooled on the stage like fresh blood, her chest heaving from the dance and the gaze that she could still feel tracing her figure.

Poor Sam was probably just as uncomfortable as she was – the man thought of her as a sister. His little Magpie.

Rhea got to her feet to see Liam rise from his chair, grinning from ear to ear.

‘That was fantastic, darling.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘You’re a natural. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll show you around?’

She nodded mutely as she tugged her shorts and vest top back on, suddenly unable to even look at Dean now that the show was over. Stilettos dangling from her fingers, she padded bare-foot off the stage, stepping into her converse she’d left near the hidden steps at the back of the room. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mark the Mountain gesture for the boys to follow him.

Liam held the door for her, leading her down a short corridor to a brightly lit changing room lined with mirrors and vanity tables. Racks upon racks of sparkling costumes lined the back wall.

‘This is the girls’ dressing room. There’s plenty of make-up and hair products, but you’re more than welcome to use your own.’

Rhea let her eyes drift around the space; nothing immediately screaming ‘a demon was here!’ Except…

‘What’s that smell?’ She wrinkled her nose slightly, for all the world looking like a potentially put-off new employee.

‘Ah, yes, that.’ A crease appeared between the shorter man’s eyebrows. ‘We’re not quite sure where it’s coming from – the dancers started talking about a faint smell of rotten eggs about a month ago. We’ve got plumbers coming out to check the drains next week, but honestly, once everyone is in here with their perfume and whatnot, you don’t even notice it.’

_Right when the murders started._

Since none of the dancers were actually here at the moment, she was going to have to go further with this half-baked plan.

‘Fair enough. When can I start?’ Liam beamed, the worry melting from his face almost immediately.

‘How about a trial shift tomorrow night? If you get here about eleven, that gives you time to get your makeup and costume sorted.’ He shifted on his feet. ‘A few house rules though; twenty percent of your tips go to the house, but you won’t need to bribe anyone for perks. If any of the customers give you trouble, just alert one of the bouncers and they’ll take care of it. One of them will even walk you to your car if you need them to. Also, whether you sleep with any of the clientele – for financial gain or not – is your business, but just don’t get frisky on the premises – I’m not running a brothel. And if you’re not on stage, you’ll either be giving private dances or serving drinks. You got all that?’

Rhea blinked, taken aback at the sincerity in his voice.

‘I…uh…yeah sounds good.’ She released a breath. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way – but you seem to have a lot more…morals than the average strip club owner.’

Liam glanced at the floor, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

‘I grew up in…unfavourable circumstances and had to do some fairly distasteful things to get by. When I became the proprietor of this place, I figured that there would always be people who would need this kind of work, so I may as well create a safe place for them to do it. Besides,’ He shrugged. ‘The girls don’t exactly do it for me. My husband is a doctor, if you’d believe it. He runs a free monthly health clinic for all my employees.’

‘Seems fair.’ She nodded, ‘I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night then?’

‘See you then.’

 

                                                               ***

Rhea collapsed into the backseat of the Impala with an exaggerated groan.

‘I hate you both.’

‘What did I do?’ Sam’s voice climbed a few notes as he turned in his seat, a disbelieving expression on his face.

‘You went along with it. I don’t know.’ Rhea flapped one hand non-committally, her other arm flung over her eyes. ‘I’d say I’m never doing that again, but apparently I have a trial shift tomorrow night. We’re a go for demon activity – the back rooms stink of sulphur. I’ll let you know if I get a bead on the succubus - try and get the other dancers out of the way before we start exorcizing.’

‘Well only Sammy got the bouncer job, so it looks like I’ll just be there to enjoy the show.’ Dean caught her gaze in the rear-view mirror and smirked.

‘I didn’t manage to find any employee records for the dancers; it seems like Liam takes his girls on as independent contractors and doesn’t keep any of their information.’ Sam tapped his long fingers on the windowsill as Dean pulled away from the curb, seemingly oblivious to the syrup-thick sexual tension that had filled the Impala as entirely as the Kanas heat.

‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to work out which one is killing off their clients. I could always lace my perfume with holy water and spray it about; see whose sexy devil costume goes a bit deeper than the little horns and nipple tassels.’

‘I think Cas would have a holy heart attack if you got dressed up as an angel.’ Dean snickered. ‘Although we do know that Clarence has a thing for sexy devils.’

‘He’s not the only one.’  Sam muttered, earning a glare from his brother.

‘Dude, you have no leg to stand on here! I’m not the one who…’

Rhea tuned out the brothers’ bickering as she watched the sun-bleached storefronts pass by. As ironic as it would be, she sincerely hoped that Liam wouldn’t ask her to wear the devil costume that she’d seen hanging in the dressing room. At least, she consoled herself, it couldn’t be much worse than that.

                                                                              *****

As it turns out, it could be _much_ worse.

Rhea stared mutely at her reflection as one of the other dancers, a lithe blonde with the stage name Rosie, applied the last of the emerald glitter to her cleavage.

Apparently, one of the other girls was off sick and Liam had needed her to fill in for her duet with Rosie.

And because the universe and Chuck and whoever else was in control of her shitty luck, hated her with a passion, the theme was DC villainesses. Rosie’s blue-and-pink-dipped pigtails bounced as she looked over her handiwork.

Whorls of green glitter snaked up her arms and legs, dipping into her cleavage and circling her waist, perfectly matching the bra and thong that she had been given to wear. With her (sort of) natural hair colour, she hadn’t needed the wig that the other girl usually wore, so her blood-red locks were teased and curled into the siren-perfect waves of Poison Ivy.

When she’d arrived, she hadn’t even had time to test for demonic activity before she was bundled into the dressing room and fussed over by her partner for the night. Rosie was a sweet girl, and eager to help. Rhea had checked her off the ‘possible minion of hell’ list within five minutes.

The dressing room was such a flurry of glitter and activity that she hadn’t managed to get a good look at most of the other girls as they went about getting ready for their shifts.

Dean was going to have a field day. The man loved Batman way more than was normal for _anyone_ , let alone a dude in his thirties.

Despite her misgivings, Rhea flashed Rosie a genuine smile which she returned.

‘I think we’re on in a few minutes.’ The younger girl was as much of a Georgia peach as any she’d ever met, and she’d initially found it hard to catch much what she was saying. Even after being in the States for almost a decade, she was only used to the Winchester’s relatively neutral accents. She still held onto enough of her Scottish accent to be marked as a non-native.

Rosie’s costume had required far less effort than her own – fishnets, smudged red lipstick and a few fake tattoos turned her into Gotham’s own Harley Quinn.

Luckily, the duet was relatively simple, with no choreographed dance to follow; just a typical bump ‘n’ grind routine with a little girl-on-girl action set to ‘Sweet but Psycho.’

Rhea almost jumped when the tannoy called them to the stage. _Really professional._ But then she was up and moving, keeping her focus on Rosie’s bouncing pigtails in front of her as she tried not to break her ankle.

_Showtime._

**Dean’s POV**

 

Dean was halfway through his third Jack and coke when the DJ announced Rhea, although tonight she was going by the stage name Lisandra. She had vetoed most of Sam’s suggestions and _all_ of his last night back at the motel, when the oppressive heat had made it almost impossible for them to get any sleep.

Not one, but two figures stepped out onto the stage as the track started up with a high-pitched scream and his jaw almost dropped as he pieced together the theme of this routine.

Rhea’s long legs were covered in glitter – all the way up to the thong that left very little to the imagination.

The pair were greeted with whoops and hollers from other patrons of the club and Dean took a deep swig of his drink to douse the burning in his stomach that felt uncomfortably like jealously. He had no claim on the red-headed huntress, no reason to want to snarl at the other men in the crowd that they didn’t deserve to see her half-naked and sparkling, no right to see her move like liquid silk as her hands roved over the Harley Quinn she was performing with.

Dean swallowed thickly as he watched the women on stage, acutely aware of the way his cock was pressing against his jeans. His chest tightened as Rhea dropped low, still impossibly dexterous even in those ridiculous heels. Harley’s crimson lips traced the ivory column of her neck, hands trailing up the back of her thighs as she rose, moving like she had been made to dance like this – like her hands were calloused from gripping a metal pole and not a sawn-off shotgun.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He wanted, no he _needed_ …

Rhea’s cornflower-blue gaze met his and he shot up from his seat like he’d been tazed. _He needed to find Sam._

Dean knew he’d lose his seat almost immediately – he’d staked out a spot right at the front of the stage as soon as he’d arrived.

His brother was stood near the bar, dressed in a tight black t-shirt that had already attracted the attention of one of the waitresses. The petite brunette barely came up to his shoulder in her heels but was making a show of batting her eyelashes at a clearly-uncomfortable Sam.

An almost-comical look of relief crossed his face as he spotted Dean moving towards him and he managed to extract himself from the conversation to meet him halfway.

‘Sammy, it’s Rhea. The succubus must’ve ambushed her backstage and taken her appearance.’

‘Whoa, whoa. Slow down.’ Sam gripped him by the shoulders, concern creasing his brow. ‘How do you know? Did you test her?’

‘No, but I could feel her hoodoo demon magic on me. Look at me, Sammy!’

His brother raised his brows as he took him in, the rising panic in his chest masking any embarrassment he should feel about standing in front of his little brother with a boner.

Rhea was a capable hunter but if the succubus had gotten the drop on her…

He was already fumbling for his flask of holy water when a snort from Sam made him pause.

‘What the hell are you laughing at man? Rhea’s in danger!’ He set his jaw, getting more pissed by the second as the taller man continued to laugh.

‘That’s Rhea on stage, Dean. You’ve got it bad for her, dude.’ Sam managed between breaths. ‘None of the performers so far have been demons.’

‘I…’ He started, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he glanced back at the stage. Rhea’s performance was ending, the two women collecting their tips as they headed backstage. ‘Shut the hell up.’ Dean finally snapped, both unwilling and unable to give voice to the cocktail of emotions that was swirling around in his chest.

Without a backwards glance at his brother, Dean stalked back to the bar for another drink. Hopefully the succubus showed her face before he got completely plastered.

 

**Rhea’s POV**

The backstage air was cool against her skin as she pushed through the doors hidden behind the stage. Emerald glitter trailed in her wake she headed back to the dressing room, Rosie hot on her stiletto heels.

They had scooped up the bills from the stage without counting, trusting enough of one another to wait until they got backstage to split the tips between them.

It wasn’t long before they each had an even stack of bills on their dressers. She had made decent money from just one performance, maybe being a stripper wasn’t so bad after all.

The chatter of the other girls was background noise as she bent to check that her supplies were still in her rucksack. Holy water, salt and several knives were all nestled under the clothes she had worn to the club earlier that night.

‘I love your tattoo.’ The voice behind her was low and smooth and when she straightened up, she saw that it belonged to a dark-haired woman in a revealing police officer’s uniform. The smile on her full lips was genuine enough but it didn’t quite reach the eyes that were fixed to the anti-possession tattoo on her shoulder blade.

She hadn’t even thought to cover it up before coming to the club – she’d been more worried about accidentally flashing her tits than her ink. _Shit._

Rhea didn’t have time to grab the flask of holy water before the succubus flung out a hand, sending her crashing into a rack of costumes along the opposite wall. There were screams from the other dancers as they scrambled to the exit, abandoning any pretence at solidarity as they shoved through the doorway.

Even though they were a lower class of demon, succubi still packed one hell of a punch. Though because of their lesser status and the fact that they possessed their own corporeal bodies, rather than possessing humans, exorcising them had the rather spectacular effect of burning them to ashes rather than the usual outpouring of black smoke.

Eyeing the distance between herself and her bag, Rhea adjusted her plan and lunged for the fire alarm on the wall above her. The piercing sound immediately clanged through the building. Hopefully that would alert Sam and Dean to the situation and give the civilians a chance to get clear.

‘ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ -‘

She was cut off with a gasp as the demon tossed her back towards the dressing table, the mirror shattering on impact. Glittering shards scattered everywhere as she pushed herself up with a groan, reaching through the wreckage for her bag.

Her hand closed around the silver flask just as the succubus approached her, seemingly content to toy with her prey before she dispatched her. That was fine by her.

With a flick of her wrist, she let the water arc from the flask, hitting the demon with a hiss and the stench of burning flesh. The brunette screeched, clawing at her face as she tried to rub the caustic substance out of her eyes.

With an inhuman shriek, the demon took off down the corridor, clearly deciding that this was a fight she wasn’t going to win.

‘For _fuck_ sake.’ Rhea tugged at the straps of her heels for a second before resigning to the fact that they weren’t coming off quickly. With another muttered string of curses, she gave chase, pausing only to grab a pair of knives from her bag. She could give Crowley some new torture ideas involving impractical footwear.

 

The succubus burst through the doors into the main part of the club with Rhea several paces behind and struggling to gain ground. With a grunt, she lunged forward, slashing down with her knife as she fell. The blade caught the demon in the back of her thigh, cutting a jagged path through her hamstring.

Blood gushed crimson from the wound, making her hands slippery as she scrambled to pin the felled demon. Her ankle twisted and she snarled, but finally managed to straddle the succubus, knees pinning her arms to the floor until she could hear bone grinding against bone.

In rapid succession, Rhea landed a series of solid blows to her jaw, hard enough to draw blood. The demon only laughed, the sound obscene and crackling from the blood trickling from her mouth.

‘I smelled your desire as soon as you walked in. I could almost _taste_ it - taste the way you lusted after-‘

Rhea let out a half-strangled scream as she wrapped her hands around the succubus’s slender throat before slamming her head against the floor.

And then there was no longer ivory skin beneath her fingers – the demon’s glamour rippled away to reveal her true form; indigo skin and eyes like swirling galaxies, furred legs that ended in razor sharp hooves and twisting black horns.

 ‘A little help here?’ Rhea raised her gaze to glare at the brothers who were stood over her and her prey, staring wide eyed at what had probably started as every guy’s hottest fantasy.

Finally, they leapt into action; Sam chanting in Latin as Dean poured his flask of holy water over the writhing demon beneath her.

The demon screeched, thrashing against her as her skin sizzled.

‘Wait! _Wait!_ I can make you a deal, anything you want! It won’t even cost you your soul, just a year off the end of your life. I could make you irresistible – wanted by everyone, even-‘

Rhea slammed her head into the ground again and there was a sharp crack as her head snapped back and the tip of her horn broke off, skittering away under one of the empty tables.

‘ _Enough_.’ She barely recognised her own voice; almost feral in her fury.

She registered that Sam was coming to the end of the incantation and leapt up just in time to avoid being singed as the succubus burst into flames, burning so hot that her body was ashes within seconds.

 ‘Well…’ Sam glanced from her to the smoking pile of ashes.

‘Lets never do that again.’ Her skin was a disgusting mess of drying blood and clumped glitter, and she wanted nothing more than a hot shower and possibly a fifth of tequila to wash away the memory of tonight.

‘I quite enjoyed the first half of the night.’ Dean scratched the back of his head with the handle of his blade, but his trademark smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something was bothering him. ‘But I can tell you one thing – you’re not getting into Baby like that.’

She was just about to give a rather colourful retort about where he could stick his Baby when a movement by the front doors made her turn.

Liam Hanover was picking his way through the wreckage of several shattered glasses and scattered dollar bills towards the trio.

‘I trust you had a good reason for assaulting one of my girls and setting off the fire alarm on one of our busiest nights of the week?’ The older man’s expression showed only mild displeasure as he took in the scene that the three of them presented.

_Shit._

                                                                             *****

It had taken some time, and several runs through the security footage, but they’d finally managed to convince Liam that he didn’t need to call the cops on them.

He even let Rhea clean up in the showers through the back, though a good amount of glitter had refused to budge even with soap and water.

Dean had still given her a sideways look as she’d slid into the backseat of the Impala; to which her only reply had been a vulgar gesture that heavily replied on her middle finger.

Rhea had dozed off on the short ride back to the Bunker, head resting against the window frame as the warm night air tugged at her damp hair.

When they’d arrived home, she’d quickly said her goodnights to the boys before hauling ass to her room. Cas and Jack had given her odd looks as she’d swept past them in the library, still trailing glitter, but she couldn’t be sure how much Dean had pieced together from the mouthy succubus and hadn’t wanted to hang around to find out.

Sleep didn’t come easily, despite her exhaustion, but when it did it was fitful, filled with a mind-addling mix of lust and fear and moss-green eyes that glimmered like the ocean.

 

                                                                 ********

 

The next day had brought no new cases, so Rhea had woken late and used the rare downtime to restock the kitchen and catch up on laundry. The bunker was quiet now, despite it only being early evening. Jack and Cas were out at a movie; the angel eager to educate his young ward on pop culture in a more traditional way than Metatron had shown him, and Sam had retreated to his room with a headache some time ago.

Dean was seated on the armchair opposite her, a glass of whiskey in one hand the TV remote held loosely in the other. He had been flicking through channels for the last ten minutes.

Nearly a year ago, the occupants of the bunker had collectively decided that the library needed comfier seating than the Men of Letter’s had originally intended, so there had been a mass trip to the nearest furniture store to purchase a couple of armchairs and a long, deep sofa. Dean had also insisted on buying a forty-eight-inch HD LED TV and the whole setup had been tucked into a corner of the library, surrounded on two sides by bookshelves.

Rhea glanced up as the hunter cleared his throat, her gaze meeting his as he stared at her with an unsettling intensity. A flush crept her face as she fiddled with the pages of her book.

‘Can I help you?’ Pleased that her voice remained even, she titled her head, waiting for him to either speak or break his stare.

‘Was just wondering where’d you gotten the tat from. Don’t think I’ve seen that one before.’ This time his gaze was accompanied by a slight smirk, his eyes drifting down to her abdomen where the silver edilith encircled her navel. ‘Kinda’ hard not to notice it in your getup last night.’

Now it was her turn to clear her throat.

‘It’s not new, an ex-girlfriend of mine gave me it when I was nineteen. She’s a rather powerful witch - still lives up in the Scottish Highlands I believe.’ And dammit this was the second time in as many days that her ink had gotten her into uncomfortable situations, because the next part… ‘It’s a bastardisation of an ancient Gaelic fertility ritual. Magical contraception, essentially. Protects me from everything a condom would.’

‘Awesome.’ His brows rose, his smirk taking on a distinctly naughty cast. ‘She the one who taught you to dance like that?’

Her breath hitched as she processed his words, weighing the possible meanings and the innuendo, trying to determine… _Fuck it._ If that wasn’t an invitation…

She closed her book with a snap before rolling to her feet, never once letting her gaze drop from his, not giving her mind any room for doubt. Never mind that she was only wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Never mind that she was far soberer than she’d ever imagined herself to be while actually attempting this.

‘No, she wasn’t.’ She padded across the space between them, using her foot to nudge his knees further apart. She dropped her voice as she leaned down, hands on the armrests, caging him in. ‘You see, Dean, that I’ve learned to watch people in this life; learned what makes them tick. And I’ve learned who they remember. They remember the woman who made every roll of her hips an invitation, every movement a seduction.’

Dean’s face had gone slack, and she could see the dark lust in his eyes warring with his doubts. It felt good to not be the one second-guessing for once.

‘And just who were you seducing?’ His voice was hoarse and almost breathy as his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. ‘Mark the bouncer?’ He raised his jaw slightly. ‘ _Sammy_?’

‘Am I in Sam’s room right now?’ Rhea let her eyes flutter as Dean reached out to cup the backs of her thighs, his fingers feather-light as they trailed up towards her ass. ‘But this is all or nothing, Dean. I won’t just be another notch in your belt.’ Her breath was coming faster now, but she tried to keep her voice even, tried to keep that resolve even as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

‘Sweetheart, you’ve been driving me crazy for _months_.’ The green-eyed hunter surged up, catching her mouth with his as he tightened his grip on her ass. His breath was hot against her lips as he drew back enough to meet her gaze; crushing blue to blazing emerald. ‘I don’t think I could let you go after just one night, even if I wanted to.’

Rhea released her grip on the chair to thread her hands through his tousled hair, finding the longer strands at the back that were just enough to get a good grip and _pull_.

The groan that escaped him was guttural, reverberating through her chest and sending waves of heat straight to her core. His fingers hooked in the waistband of her boxers, and he released her mouth to press butterfly kisses down her body, following the path of her underwear as he dragged them over her hips and off until they were puddled on the floor around her ankles.

Rhea moaned quietly, dragging her t-shirt up and off as Dean lifted one knee over his shoulder, dipping his head to trail his lips up the inside of her thigh.

‘So wet already…’ His voice was an exquisite agony as his breath brushed against the apex of her thighs. With a low snarl, she gripped his hair tighter, almost pushing his face closer to where she needed him.

With a dark chuckle at her urgency, he began to feast on her; his lips closing around her clit, alternating between sucking and circling the sensitive bud with his tongue in a way that had her seeing stars within minutes.

Her legs trembled and Dean tightened his grip on her thigh where it was pressed against the side of his head. Meanwhile, he trailed his other hand up, up, up her leg until he was pressing against her soaked folds, matching the rhythm of his tongue with the steady thrust of his fingers.

‘Fuck… _Dean_.’ She was moaning in earnest now, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stop from alerting the rest of the bunker. Cas and Jack could come back at _any time_ … ‘God I’m close…’

And damn him she could _feel_ that cocky smirk against her as he increased his pace. Faster and faster until –

Her legs shook and locked as her release barrelled through her, the man kneeling before her the only thing keeping her upright as she came down from the high.

‘Fuck – that was…’ Rhea licked her lips as she glanced down at Dean, his own mouth swollen and glistening as he tilted his head back to meet her gaze.

‘Oh, we’re not done yet, darlin’.’ She barely had time to unhook her leg from his should before he was surging up, wrapping his arms under her thighs to grip her ass as he backed her towards the nearest bookshelf; hard enough to knock several of the no-doubt ancient volumes to the floor.

And she met his passion blow-for-blow, her hands frantic as she ripped his t-shirt up and over his head, tightening her legs around his waist to let him undo his belt and slide his jeans down far enough to free his cock.

He was hot and heavy against her, far bigger than she’d had in a long time. Dean didn’t waste any time as he pressed against her, the head of his cock stretching her out as he rolled his hips into her, letting her adjust to the size until he bottomed out.

In the low light of the lamps, he was impossibly beautiful – all lean muscle and freckled skin criss-crossed by silvery scars from countless past fights.

He kept the pace slow, pulling out almost completely before pressing back into her. She buried her face into his neck, trailing her lips along the tanned skin before biting down hard enough to make his hips jerk, rattling the shelf behind her. Rhea chuckled throatily at Dean’s frustrated growl, sucking a mark onto his neck. She was done being subtle and this was her claim.

‘Fuck me like you mean it, Winchester.’ Her voice was a purr in his ear, and he took her suggestion wholeheartedly.

The bookshelf shook with each roll of his hips and she knew that she’d have a series of very odd bruises in the morning, but it was worth it for the way that Dean trembled as he tightened his arms around her, a jumble of words falling from lips as his rhythm began to falter.

‘I love you, I love you _Iloveyouiloveyou.’_

He squeezed his eyes closed as he fell over the edge, still and shuddering as he spilled inside her. It was a while before he moved again; almost reverent as he slowly guided her back to her feet, still leaning against the shelf for support.

‘I love you too, even if you are a pain in my ass.’ Rhea smiled, dipping her head before glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, watching the lust in his eyes give way to something far softer than she’d ever seen in his expression.

‘If you wanted me to be a _real_ pain in your ass, you only had to ask, sweetheart.’ But there was no heat behind the innuendo – only tenderness as he dipped his head to press a chaste kiss to her mouth, lingering sweetly.

‘We should get cleaned up before Cas gets home.’

‘What? Do you not want to invite the pizzaman to the party?’ Rhea shook her head as she moved past Dean to locate her clothes.

‘You’re unbelievable.’

‘I’m going to take that as a comment on my performance back there.’

She tipped her head back, a thoughtful expression on her face.

‘Accurate.’

 


End file.
